What Makes You Stronger
by SupernaturalGeek
Summary: While Dean and Sam struggle with a mystery involving mind control it raises issues from the past. Set during Season 2.
1. Chapter 1

"Sam, did you use the last of the holy water?"

Sam stuck his head round the bathroom door, rubbing his hair dry with a towel.

"What?"

Dean looked up, his expression exasperated as he gestured towards the bed in front of him which was covered by an entire bag full of weapons and equipment.

"I _said_ did you use the last of the holy water?"

"Me personally? As what, mouthwash?"

Dean counted to ten in his head and fixed Sam with a warning glare.

"Do I look like I'm in the mood for smart ass comments?"

Sam wisely didn't answer, instead going back to Dean's original question.

"No, I did not use the last of the holy water, Dean. We used the last of it in that exorcism last month. We were supposed to refill the bottles when we passed the next church."

"Great, that's perfect. Let's hope we don't come across any demons. Oh wait, I forgot – that's what we happen to do for a living."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Hey, don't go yelling at me because we forgot to refill them."

"Why didn't you remind me?"

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Because you're supposed to have a brain of your own? Course I use the word 'supposed' to."

"You're a riot, Sam. Lets see how funny you find it next time some possessed dude is coming at you and all you got to throw at him is your sharp wit."

Sam ducked back inside the bathroom, mumbling something about it not being his job to remind Dean of every little thing.

Dean regarded the empty bottles on the bed with an irritated look. Truth was he was as annoyed at himself as he was at Sam, since one of them should have remembered something as basic as that, but at this precise moment it was simply one more frustration on top of a tense few weeks.

He wasn't even sure he could pinpoint exactly what the problem was. The last couple of jobs had gone ok, barring a few minor surprises. Nothing they hadn't been able to handle. Neither of them had even been thrown around that much, which made a pleasant change.

All of which made the current bad mood they both seemed to be in even more mystifying.

Sure they got on each other's nerves at times – it was part of being brothers after all. But this was different. It was like everything they did or said lately seemed to drive the other crazy, and it was starting to wear on both of them.

Sam came out of the bathroom at that moment, his hair now almost dry, still annoyed Dean was blaming him for them running out of holy water.

He wasn't sure why it was irritating him quite so much. It was like lately everything Dean said or did jarred on his nerves, and if the snappy comments that had been coming his way were anything to go by the feeling was apparently mutual.

He couldn't help wondering if it was simply a result of finding out about what John had said before he died. Sam still couldn't believe Dean had kept that from him, something so important, but they hadn't really had a chance to discuss it properly, partly because Dean always refused point blank to discuss anything and partly because they hadn't really had time what with dealing with Gordon and then moving straight on to the next job.

Sam wasn't stupid – he knew Dean was hoping by avoiding mentioning the whole thing they could pretend it didn't exist. But it wasn't that simple, and in the meantime both of them being constantly on edge wasn't exactly making it rainbows and bunnies in their world right now.

Dean glanced up at him as he put on his jacket, shoving three medium sized bottles in his pockets.

"I'm gonna go find a church and fill these up again." he said and Sam shrugged.

"Ok."

Dean waited for something else but it looked like Sam was in the mood for one word answers today.

Which was fine by him.

"I won't be long."

"Uh-huh."

Shaking his head Dean grabbed the car keys and left the room, shutting the door behind him a little harder than was really necessary.

Alone in the room Sam sighed and sat down on the chair next to the table. Since he had time on his hands till Dean came back he might as well do something useful.

Opening the laptop he waited for it to boot up and picked up a pile of papers that were sitting next to it. Scanning each page he put them in some sort of order and began reading through them properly, making notes on some of them as he went.

A few blocks away Dean pulled up in front of an imposing looking church. He switched off the engine and glanced round, taking in how many people were around and what they were doing. It was pretty quiet, which wasn't surprising considering it was fairly early for a Saturday, so he decided to risk it.

Getting out he locked the car, double checking since they were in the city, and casually walked up the steps to the main entrance. The door was unlocked and he walked in slowly, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the slightly darkened interior. The place looked empty, although there were candles burning brightly at the far end.

He frowned. Somehow, wherever you went, there always seemed to be candles burning in churches. He wondered if there was an actual job for that.

Breaking himself out of his reverie on candles he spotted the font on his left and quickly headed towards it. Keeping a constant eye and ear out for anyone else entering the church he dug out the bottles and refilled them hurriedly. He'd just put the last one back in his pocket when he heard a door open and he turned to face it, adopting a casual air.

The priest looked up as he sensed company and smiled at Dean.

"Good morning. Can I help with you with something?"

Dean gave him a polite smile.

"No, thank you. I was just leaving."

The priest nodded, apparently deciding Dean looked innocent enough, and headed for the altar where he genuflected before going to check the candles that had been so fascinating.

Dean walked slowly back out, making a point to appear as if he was in no hurry. Outside he kept up the same casual pace all the way to the Impala, relieved to see the priest hadn't followed him. He pulled out into the traffic and headed for the motel room, trying to ignore the tension that was settling on his shoulders already at the thought of being back in the same room as his brother again.

Sam was deeply engrossed in whatever he was reading and it was a couple of seconds before he actually looked up to acknowledge Dean's return. He watched as Dean took the now full bottles out of his pockets and dumped them on the bed next to the other weapons.

"Any problems?" he said and Dean shook his head.

"Nah, place was deserted."

Sam nodded.

"Good."

Shrugging off his jacket Dean dropped it onto his bed – the one not currently covered with weapons – and walked over to stand behind Sam.

"So you going through the reports on this guy?" he said and Sam leant back in his chair.

"Yeah. If you go back far enough there's been someone using his name as long ago as 1912. There's no pictures but the MO's the same – he shows up, sets up a business as a 'hypnotist', everything's fine for a while and then people suddenly start turning into cold blooded killers. Every one of them, right the way through, all claimed they were innocent on the basis of not being able to remember committing the murder. Thing is there was always witnesses, or unquestionable evidence – most of them either ended up in jail for the rest of their lives or were executed, depending on which state they were in. Each time there was a spate of these deaths Munro would simply disappear, usually after the eighth murder."

Dean frowned.

"Eight's a mystical number, right?"

"Yeah, in some cultures they believe it has special significance. I'm not sure why it should be important in this case but it must be, since Munro has followed that pattern for the last 90 odd years."

"Ok, so this guy should be over 100 years old at least, yet in that last photograph he looks no older than about fifty – that's weird, right?"

"Yeah. Could be he's not human. Or could be he's using something, some sort of ritual or a deal he's made. We'd need to get closer to see if there's any evidence of how he's doing it. Course it could also be linked to why he makes these people commit murders, and only eight of them each time. There's gotta be a reason for it."

"You mean other than the fact he must have the world's greatest skin routine?"

Sam actually grinned at that, the first sign of humour in weeks.

"Yes, Dean, apart from that."

Dean found himself grinning back, if only because it was nice to feel a break in the tension.

"Ok, so what angle do you wanna play?" he said and Sam looked up at him, pleasantly surprised to be consulted.

"One of us could make an appointment to see him? Act like we need his help. It'd be an easy way to get into his office and talk to him face to face."

Dean frowned.

"Yeah, but that's no good if he goes and hypnotises us into committing murder, is it? We really don't need to go down that route, specially with the cops on our tail enough as it is."

"I wasn't suggesting letting him actually hypnotise one of us. We can stop short of that part for now, simply say we want a consultation to start with."

"You think he'll go for that?"

"It's worth a shot. Gets us in the door, right?"

"Ok. We're keeping it simple though, first sign of hypnotism and we're out of there. I'll call his office and make an appointment."

Sam put his hand on Dean's arm.

"Actually I think it would be better if I go."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"You? Why?"

"Because, you're not exactly into all this therapy stuff and I really can't see you managing to be convincing enough not to set off this guy's radar. If he's survived this long he must be pretty smart and he'll see straight through you in a second."

"Hey, I can be convincing." said Dean indignantly and Sam shook his head.

"At this? I don't think so. Better if I do it."

"I don't know."

Sam looked annoyed.

"I can take care of myself, and I know what I'm doing. I don't need you to hold my hand every time, Dean."

"Don't start getting defensive, I never offered to hold your hand. I'm just saying I'm not comfortable with the idea of you going in there with this guy alone. We still don't know how he's doing this."

"And we won't if one of us doesn't get in there to see him! If you think I can't do this..."

"I didn't say that." said Dean, interrupting, and Sam looked at him, a horrible realisation dawning suddenly.

"You think it's gonna happen again, don't you?"

Dean looked at him questioningly.

"Think what's gonna happen?"

Sam looked away.

"You think it's gonna be like with Ellicott."

Dean flinched and then tried to hide it but it was too late – Sam had seen and immediately got a closed off look on his face.

"Fine, you do it then. It's probably for the best."

Dean grabbed hold of Sam's arm, shaking him until his brother reluctantly looked at him.

"I do not think this is gonna be like with Ellicott, Sam! The thought never even occurred to me, you understand?"

Sam gave a bitter smile.

"Maybe it should. I could've killed you that time and now with what Dad said,"

Dean cut him off, standing up straight and running a hand through his hair.

"What Dad said is a bunch of crap! That has nothing to do with this, nor does what happened before. If you think this is the best way to get in with Munro then that's what we'll do. You meet him and I'll back you up."

Sam shook his head.

"No, you're right. You do it."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Sam looked at him.

"Great, that's mature, Dean. One of us has to do this."

"Yeah, I know, and it's gonna be you. Now will you just call him so we can get on with this?"

Dean held out the cell phone to Sam but his brother hesitated, not convinced by Dean's words.

"Sam."

He looked up at the quietly spoken word and saw Dean watching him.

"I trust you. Now make the call."

Sam swallowed but took the phone. He wanted to say something, to ask how Dean could be so sure that it wouldn't happen again or that John was wrong, but Dean had already moved away and was turning his attention to the weapons.

Looking at the phone as if it was a ticking bomb, Sam visibly pulled himself together and looked up Munro's number on the papers next to him. Dialling, he forced himself to relax and took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves.

Dean started to take apart one of the shotguns to check it, deliberately looking as if he wasn't paying attention to what Sam was doing, even though he was.

When he'd objected to Sam being the one to meet with Munro it had been simple big brother prerogative, it hadn't even occurred to him to put two and two together and come up with five the way Sam had. The memory of what happened with Ellicott still stung when he thought about it, but mostly he just didn't think about it. Sam had apologised a million times, they'd even gone so far as talk it through – despite Dean's reluctance – and as far as he was concerned, it was done with. What he'd said before was true, he did trust Sam.

Even with what their father had said to him about this so called destiny.

Course now he had to actually let Sam go ahead with taking the lead on this case, or his brother was gonna think it was because he didn't trust him. He sighed.

Sometimes all this deep emotional stuff really was more trouble than it was worth.

"Dean."

He jumped a little, not aware that Sam had finished his call and had apparently been trying to get his attention for the last few minutes. Trying to look like he'd just been engrossed in what he was doing, he looked up.

"You get through to him?"

Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I got an appointment tomorrow afternoon, 3:15."

Dean smiled.

"Great."

Sam didn't look as happy.

"Maybe."

Dean put the now thoroughly checked shotgun back into the bag and picked up his handgun.

"Sam, come on. I told you, this is not gonna be like before, ok? Honestly, I never even thought about that till you brought it up."

"Doesn't mean I'm not right though. Maybe there's something about me that's easy to manipulate, maybe that's part of this whole destiny thing Dad told you about. If Munro manages to do to me what he did to those other people then..."

He tailed off.

"Look, you are definitely not easy to manipulate, Sammy. Do you think if that was the case I wouldn't have taken advantage by now? Believe me, I can think of more than one time when it would have made my life a hell of a lot easier if I could have just manipulated you into doing what I wanted you to."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I. You're the least easy to manipulate person I know, so just quit thinking like that ok? Now, we should talk to the relatives of some of these latest victims. If we split up we'll cover more ground, so you take the last two and I'll take the first one, since they're all the way over the other side of the city."

What Dean didn't mention was that the space would do both of them some good, especially given Sam was now even more on edge than he had been before.

Sam watched Dean packing away their stuff for a few moments before reluctantly standing and grabbing the car keys. As he headed outside to get their suits out of the Impala's trunk he shivered, like someone had just walked over his grave. He tried to put aside the sense of foreboding but he really did have a bad feeling about this job.

He just hoped he was wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the door to be answered. He thought about knocking again but he could hear movement inside and since he didn't really want to annoy whoever it was before he'd had a chance to speak to them, he resisted the urge.

"Come on, come on. What are you doing, crawling on your hands and knees?" he said under his breath.

Just then he heard the sound of the door being unlocked and it swung open, revealing a red eyed woman who peered up at him with a pained expression.

"Yes?"

He gave her his most charming smile.

"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I'm with the FBI and I just need to ask you a few questions about what happened with your husband."

She gave the badge a disinterested look and sighed.

"I already told the cops everything. Why can't you just leave us alone? You've got him in jail, what more do you want?"

Dean looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I know this must be difficult for you but we're looking at this from a different angle to the police. It really won't take a moment."

Clearly not having much fight left the woman opened the door wider and stepped back to allow Dean to pass.

"Thank you."

He followed her into a bright open lounge that currently had newspapers strewn everywhere. The woman sat down in one of the chairs.

"Just move that stuff if you want." she said, gesturing vaguely at the sofa.

Dean politely shoved a bunch of newspapers to one side, noting that they were all open on articles about the murder, and perched on the edge of the cushion.

"Mrs Anderson, could you tell me how long your husband had been a patient of David Munro's?"

She frowned.

"Why is that important?"

"Please, if you could just answer the question?"

She shook her head.

"Alright, but I don't see what it's go to do with what happened. The police already said that you can't just hypnotise someone into committing murder. That kind of conditioning would take special training and months of treatment."

Dean nodded, but indicated he was still waiting for an answer.

"Well, Brian was having trouble quitting smoking so when he saw an advert for Dr Munro it seemed like the ideal solution."

"He calls himself 'Dr'?" asked Dean and the woman nodded.

"Yes, of course. He has a degree in this sort of thing. Brian wouldn't have gone to see just any old crackpot you know."

Dean gave her a fake smile.

"Of course not. So, Brian went to see Dr Munro to quit smoking – how many sessions did he have with him?"

"Um, I'm not sure exactly. I think maybe eight?"

Dean didn't react but he made a note in his book and mentally reminded himself to ask Sam if that was the same with the other two victims.

"Go on." he said when it was clear Mrs Anderson had drifted off again.

"Hmm? Oh, right. Well, like I said, he had eight or so sessions and the change was miraculous. He went from twenty a day to nothing in the space of a few weeks. He didn't even need to use any of that gum or any of those patches. It was amazing."

"I'm sure. Did anything else change about him? His personality, his habits – anything at all?"

Mrs Anderson frowned.

"Not really. He did start sleeping better. Brian had always had trouble sleeping but when that stopped we figured it was just because he didn't have the nicotine in his system anymore. Oh, and there was that fight with his brother but that was just how they were."

Dean sat up straighter.

"What fight?"

She hesitated, reluctant to tell the story.

"Look, you have to understand Brian had really tried with Carl, for so many years. Carl was one of those guys who didn't want to grow up, he just bummed around from one job to the next, acting like he was still in college. With their parents gone Brian felt responsible for him, so he tried to get him to start doing something with his life but Carl just wouldn't listen. Anyway, after he gave up the cigarettes Brian really started to loose patience with him. Carl phoned one night, after money as usual, and Brian just let rip. Really let him have it. I guess that's why Carl come round that day, to try and straighten things out."

She stopped, biting her lip as her eyes filled with tears.

Dean gave her a sympathetic smile and leaned forward to push a box of tissues that were sitting on the table a little closer.

"So Carl came here that day? Brian didn't ask him?"

She shook her head.

"No, Carl came round unannounced. He wanted to know what was going on and why Brian was so mad at him. Brian told him he was tired of bailing him out, that he had to take responsibility for himself, and they started having this massive argument. I tried to step in but neither of them would listen. In the end Brian stormed out and I persuaded Carl to stay here the night, as it was so late. I wish to god I hadn't now."

"Go on." said Dean, after a moment of silence.

She swallowed.

"Well, Brian came back a few hours later and he'd calmed down a little. He hadn't been drinking or anything, he said he'd just been walking, to try and clear his head. I told him Carl was in the spare room and he just grunted, said he'd deal with him in the morning. It was really late by then, almost 2am, so we went to bed. I woke up when I heard screaming and… It was coming from the spare room, so I ran in and I put on the light. Brian was standing there, and he had this knife in his hand. It was one of our kitchen knives. And there was blood everywhere, on the walls, on Brian. And I looked – that's when I saw Carl. He was dead. His throat had been cut."

"By Brian?"

"I don't know. He was holding the knife, and he was covered in blood, but the way he was looking at the body. He was horrified, like he didn't know what had happened. He was the one screaming, he was just shouting Carl's name over and over again. The police said there was no sign of anyone else, that Brian's prints were the only ones on the knife, but I know he couldn't have done it. I just know. He loved his brother, and if you'd seen him… He can't remember, not one second of it. The psychiatrists are calling it traumatic amnesia but I think he can't remember because it wasn't him. It couldn't have been. It just couldn't."

Dean nodded.

"I see. Mrs Anderson, do you think I could take a look upstairs, see where it happened?"

She looked at him suspiciously.

"Why? It's been cleaned up now, all the evidence was taken by the police. And I've scrubbed that room till my hands were raw – you won't find anything."

"Still, I'd like to get an idea in my head of what happened and this will help give me a clearer picture. It won't take long."

She sank back into the chair.

"Fine, if you want to waste your time. It's the third on the right at the top of the stairs."

Dean smiled.

"Thank you, ma'am."

He made his way up the stairs, as if in no hurry, but as soon as he was on the landing and out of sight he quickened his step. He opened the third door on his right and grimaced as he was hit with the overpowering smell of bleach. Clearly Mrs Anderson hadn't been kidding about cleaning the room thoroughly.

He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him, and turned round. He swept the room with a glance, noting nothing unusual. He dug out the EMF meter he'd brought along and walked slowly round the room.

Nothing.

If anything supernatural had been there clearly it was long gone. He checked a few more things, looking for tell tale sulphur residues or marks around the bed but Mrs Anderson had been right – he really was wasting his time. With a sigh he put the EMF back in his pocket and headed back downstairs.

Mrs Anderson looked up at him as he appeared in the doorway. She was clutching a framed photograph and he didn't need to see it to know that her husband would be in there somewhere.

Sometimes this part of the job really did suck.

"Did you find anything?" she said, almost hopefully, and Dean cleared his throat.

"Uh, no, nothing really."

She looked disappointed.

"I told you. The police aren't even interested in looking for anyone else. They just want to lock up my poor Brian for the rest of his life. But I know he couldn't have done this. I just know it."

Her voice tailed off into a whisper and Dean was struck by a sudden urge to get out of the house, and fast.

"Well, thank you for your time, Mrs Anderson. I appreciate your honesty. We'll be in touch."

She stood up then, grabbing his arm in an almost painful fashion, her gaze slightly manic.

"You will keep looking, won't you? He didn't do it – my husband is innocent."

Dean untangled her fingers as gently as possibly, fighting the urge to run.

"I'll do my best." he said, honestly. "I have to go now."

The energy seemed to drain out of her and she just nodded, letting go and slumping back into the chair. With one final sympathetic glance Dean let himself out.

He walked briskly across to the Impala, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his collar. He got in and started the engine, not even giving it time to warm up before he pulled away.

As he drove he thought about Brian Anderson and his wife, and how their lives had been turned upside down by this so called 'Dr' Munro. Not to mention poor Carl. He clenched his jaw, his expression grim. However this guy was doing this, they were going to find out. And then they were going to stop him.

For good.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam was already back in the motel room and he stood up as Dean came in.

"Hey, I was just gonna call you. I was starting to get worried."

Dean took off his suit jacket and threw it on the bed, closely followed by the tie.

"Sorry, took longer than I expected." he said, not in the mood for wise cracks or reminding Sam that he was old enough to be out on his own. He spotted a paper bag on the table and glanced at his brother.

"That food?"

Sam nodded.

"Yeah, I figured you'd be hungry when you got back since we skipped breakfast."

Dean flashed him a grateful smile and opened the bag, pulling out two freshly made sandwiches. Sam went over to the kettle and switched it on, turning round again to face Dean while he leant back against the counter.

"So, did you get anything useful?"

Dean sighed.

"Not really. Mrs Anderson's taking it real hard, she refuses to believe her husband could have murdered anyone, let alone his brother. He was found with the knife in his hand though and no one else was in the house. I scanned the room with the EMF but there was nothing and no sign of demon activity or rituals either. If it wasn't for the connection with this Munro it'd look just like straightforward murder. Guy was mad at his brother, flipped out and slit his throat."

Sam tensed and shifted uncomfortably.

"Maybe meeting up with Munro isn't such a good idea after all." he said and Dean frowned at him.

"What do you mean?"

Sam turned round to deal with the coffee, which had the fortunate side effect of meaning that he didn't have to face Dean while he said this.

"It's just if this guy is capable of making these people into murderers – by whatever means – then I'm just not happy about giving him a shot at us, that's all. Especially with how things have been lately."

Dean shook his head, even though it was a wasted gesture since Sam was facing the other way.

"Oh come on, Sam. Not this again. Look, just because Brian Anderson killed his brother does not mean that's gonna happen to us, ok? None of these other killings involved brothers, did they?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder quickly and then back to what he was doing.

"A couple. Here and there."

"Well that's not exactly a pattern, is it? Maybe he just works off opportunity – you know, if the brother hadn't showed up it would have been the wife. Don't go making a big deal out of this, Sam."

Sam turned round again carrying two mugs, one of which he brought over and put on the table next to Dean.

"Sure, cos it's not like we've ever been used by something supernatural to go after each other, right? Oh, wait a minute – yes, I have."

Dean rolled his eyes and took a sip of the coffee.

"That's very Oscar worthy, but still not remotely relevant to this job. We don't even know how this Munro guy is doing this, let alone if there's a spirit involved. And I know we've been getting on each other's nerves lately but I'm pretty sure you don't really want to see me six feet under."

"This isn't funny."

"And I'm not laughing. Seriously, Sam, how many times do we go up against these things and they want us dead, hmm? And yet here we are, still standing. Well, sitting right now, but you get my point. Just concentrate on the job and try not to harbour any murderous thoughts, ok?"

Sam glared at him and took a bite out of his sandwich.

It was all very good Dean being so blasé about the whole thing but he wasn't the one who'd been used by Ellicott before. Sam could still remember, vividly, how it had felt. The rage and the anger, how out of control he'd been. Sometimes, now and then, he'd have nightmares about pulling that trigger only in his dreams the gun had been loaded. And now here they were, dealing with something along the same lines as then.

He really wished he had Dean's confidence that things weren't gonna turn out just as badly, if not worse.

"So how did you get on anyway?" said Dean after a moment, finishing his first sandwich on moving on to the second.

"Same as you really. The first victim here was seeing Munro for trouble sleeping. She had eight sessions with the guy, totally solved her problem, then suddenly two weeks after the last one she's found in her best friend's house with a gun in her hand and her friend dead on the floor in front of her. No memory of the murder, no idea how she got there. Police found no evidence of coercion or of anyone else being there so they arrested her. She's in a mental hospital pending trial. They're probably going to plea insanity since she swears she didn't do it. Screams it out night and day actually, according to her parents. The second one was the same, word for word, except this time it was the guy's wife he killed. Smashed her skull with a hammer. He'd been seeing Munro for fear of flying – they wanted to go to New Zealand for a second honeymoon."

Dean leant forward with his elbows resting on the table and his hands wrapped round his mug.

"So all of these people go and see this guy to cure them of something, and after eight sessions they all turn into Norman Bates overnight. How is it he hasn't been arrested?"

"Because there's no evidence to say he had anything to do with it. The police don't think it's possible to hypnotise someone into becoming a murderer, not in such a short time. Besides, it takes a special kind of training to be able to do that. The kind you get in the secret service or the military. All Munro's doing is talking to them for an hour at a time and sending them home with a self-help tape."

Dean sat up straight.

"Wait a minute, a tape? Mrs Anderson never mentioned a tape."

Sam shrugged.

"It's standard practise with most hypnotists. Means you can carry on the session at home. Most of them recommend you play it while you're asleep, since that's when the brain is most susceptible to suggestion."

Dean looked grim.

"And all these murders happen to be committed at night, right? Victims all woke up to find they'd killed someone?"

Sam nodded.

"Yeah. The cops would've checked the tapes though, Dean. They might have mentioned in their reports if Munro was on there chanting 'Kill, Kill,' every few seconds."

"I'm laughing on the inside, Sam. Seriously, you know as well as I do there could be hidden messages in there, stuff on a different frequency that even their equipment couldn't pick up. We need to check out one of those tapes."

Sam reached into his pocket and dropped something on the table with a grin.

"You mean one of these tapes?"

Dean smirked.

"Alright, so maybe college wasn't a total waste of time. Come on, let's play this in the car."

Sam swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and followed Dean outside. Dean turned on the ignition and ejected the current tape, sliding in the one Sam had picked up from the second family. It was what they'd expected to hear, lots of self help mantras and repeats of 'you can do this'.

Dean had to make a supreme effort to keep his lunch down.

They played it all the way through, a full sixty minutes, but there was nothing unusual at all.

Dean ejected it and switched off the radio.

"Anything on that?" he said, indicating the EMF meter Sam was holding. Sam shook his head.

"Not so much as a blip. We'd need better equipment than this to hear anything hidden underneath though."

Dean ignored the implied jibe about his stereo and looked thoughtful.

"There's the university building in the city centre. They probably have a media centre, right?"

"Yeah, that might do it. We couldn't risk anyone overhearing though."

Dean grinned at him.

"Guess that means we're going out tonight then, doesn't it?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Would you please hurry up?"

Dean turned at the hissed request and glared at Sam.

"No, I'd rather go slow and see if the security guard notices us next time he walks by!"

Sam bit back his own smart reply and went back to anxiously scanning the area for any sign of movement. It felt like they'd been at the door forever, although in reality it was most likely only a few minutes. By their calculations the guard shouldn't be back round for ten minutes at least, but he wasn't all that keen to test the theory.

"Got it." Dean declared triumphantly as the lock clicked open.

"About time." muttered Sam, earning himself an elbow to the ribs as he slipped past Dean and into the deserted hallway.

They moved silently along the corridor, not using their flashlights for fear of being seen outside. They'd counted two security guards, both with dogs, who patrolled the area in tandem. It was a big campus though, complete with an accommodation block at the other end, so they were hoping that the guards would be more interested in making sure the students weren't up to no good.

"Which way?" whispered Dean, as Sam scanned a map of the building behind the reception desk.

Spotting what they were looking for he pointed upwards and Dean nodded.

They took the stairs two at a time, not keen on being in there any longer than necessary. Following Sam's lead they were at the media centre in seconds.

Fortunately there was a streetlamp directly outside the window so they had enough light to see by. Sam picked a console farthest away from the window and fired up the system.

"You know what you're doing?" whispered Dean and Sam nodded.

"They had the same equipment at Stanford. I used it once when I was helping a friend with a project."

Dean didn't ask any more, handing Sam the tape and leaning back against the desk behind him.

It took him a while to transfer the audio onto the computer so he could run it through the filters and Dean did his best to be patient. Despite his reassurances to Sam he figured it wouldn't hurt not to have his brother homicidally ticked off with him, just in case.

He stuck his head out of the door to check the corridor, pausing for a few moments before being satisfied they were still undetected.

Closing the door silently behind him again he went back to stand behind Sam's shoulder.

"Well?"

Sam looked up at him, his lips twitching.

"Wow, that had to hurt. I thought you'd have caved at least five minutes ago."

Dean whacked him lightly on the back of the head.

"Hey!"

"Keep your voice down!"

Sam glared at him before turning his attention back to the screen. He hit a button and checked the volume on the speakers before clicking on play. Dean leant forward so he could hear, since Sam was sensibly keeping it as low as possible. He could make out the sound of Munro's voice but underneath that there was a weird high pitched noise.

"What the hell is that?"

Sam frowned.

"I'm not sure. Hang on, I think I can increase it."

He fiddled with a few buttons and then seconds later the whine increased. It wasn't loud, but it was loud enough. It seemed to shoot straight through Dean's eardrums to sear across his brain. He put his hand out, blindly grabbing Sam's shoulder to try and tell him to switch it off, but he could already feel himself falling.

Then there was nothing.

The first thing Sam noticed when he woke was the pounding sensation across the front of his skull. It felt like an out of tune marching band drumming their way through their greatest hits. He groaned and shifted, opening his eyes with a start as his face touched something cold. He tried to focus, but everything was dark and for a second he panicked until he realised he wasn't actually blind, he was just in a very dark room.

As he turned his head he could make out the wheels of a chair nearby and the underneath of a desk. He was obviously on the floor then. He struggled to his knees, shaking his head to try and clear the fuzziness, and that's when it all came back to him. His head snapped up, causing a wave of dizziness that he ignored. Frantically looking round he saw what he was looking for and crawled forward a few paces.

"Dean!"

His brother was lying stretched out, one arm flung above his head, still out cold. Sam felt his neck with shaking fingers, relieved when he could feel a strong pulse. He leaned forward, gently slapping Dean's cheek.

"Dean. Come on, dude, wake up would you? Preferably before we get caught in here." he said under his breath.

Despite the fact Sam was only whispering Dean began to wake up, moaning as he shifted his head from side to side.

"That's it, come on – open your eyes, Dean." said Sam encouragingly and a few moments later Dean's eyelids fluttered open.

"Sam?" he said, his voice rough.

"You were expecting someone else?"

Dean sat up, with Sam's help, and rubbed a hand over his face. His head felt like it might fall off if he moved too quickly and his ears were ringing. Squinting he looked up at his brother and saw he looked as rough as he felt. Glancing round the room he suddenly remembered where they were and why.

"Son of a bitch! What the hell was that thing?" he said and Sam almost shook his head then thought better of it.

"I don't know but whatever it was must be designed to knock you out pretty fast."

Dean leant against the desk, resting his hands on his knees, and looked at the computer.

"How come it's still playing but we can't hear it?" he said and Sam pointed at the speakers.

"I must have managed to hit the off button before I passed out. If I switch that back on it's probably still running."

"Well for the love of god, don't. Once was enough."

Sam wholeheartedly agreed.

Sitting back down he switched off the programme and the screen went blank. Ejecting the tape from the machine he put it back in his pocket and shut down the computer completely. Dean watched, still shaking his head now and then to try and shift the lingering effects of the noise.

"Done?" he said and Sam nodded.

Quietly they slipped out of the room, Dean taking a few seconds to lock it behind them. Glancing at his watch he saw they'd been there for an hour, which meant they must have been unconscious for at least twenty minutes.

Making their way back downstairs he motioned Sam to hide in one of the doorways and crept up to the window. Just at that moment one of the guards walked past and Dean flattened himself against the wall, so he was in the shadows. The guard shone his flashlight inside, checked the door was locked, and carried on walking. Dean counted to sixty in his head then waved Sam forward. Unlocking the door they quietly stepped outside and Dean took another few seconds to lock it behind them, so as not to attract any attention. Checking the coast was clear they jogged across the grass and headed for the Impala, which was parked a block away.

"So clearly Munro wants these people unconscious, which is why he hid that little gem on the tape. But why?" said Dean as he opened the motel door.

Sam followed him in, shutting and locking it behind him, and took off his jacket.

"Maybe he needs them unconscious. Maybe it's like a possession of sorts."

"Yeah, but a demon can possess a human even if they're awake."

"True, but there's nothing to suggest this is a demon, not really. Could be something else entirely."

Dean dropped onto the bed, feeling wiped out, and shoved the pillows up behind him.

"Could be a suggestion thing still. We don't know if there's anything behind that noise since it knocked us out pretty much instantly. They say people can hear when they're unconscious"

Sam sat down on his own bed, bringing one leg up.

"I guess. Explains why Mrs Anderson and the others all said the victims slept better. They weren't sleeping, they were unconscious."

"Which no one would have even suspected, so no red flags there."

Sam winced as he leaned back, rubbing his neck.

"I wonder if they were left with the same headaches though? I feel like I got hit with a tree."

"You and me both. Maybe if you listen to the whole thing that negates the effect."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Negates?"

"Shut up."

Sam grinned.

"Uh-huh. It's probably more likely they just got a lower dose. Don't forget, we had that noise cranked up so we could hear it properly. Normally it would be just under the surface of what they were listening to. Anyway, point is we know there's something dodgy about the tapes but we're still no closer to knowing how or why Munro is doing this."

Dean yawned.

"Well, that can wait till tomorrow. What with the early start and then getting knocked out by that damn tape I'm beat. I'm gonna turn in." he said, getting up and heading for the bathroom.

Sam lay back and continued to think about what had happened at the university.

If Munro had wanted his victims unconscious so he could manipulate them then did that mean he showed up himself? Or was he in league with a demon who possessed them while they were not in control? Could Munro himself be a demon even, given the fact he seemed not to age.

Sam sighed, pinching the brow of his nose as he realised all this was making his head hurt even more. He picked up the pile of papers on the bedside cabinet and scanned through them again, trying to spot anything amongst the reports that might give them a clue about what they were dealing with.

He was still at it ten minutes later when Dean came out of the bathroom. He looked up.

"I think whatever it is definitely uses the fact the victim is unconscious to control them. All of the crimes were committed at night and all of them after the victim had gone to sleep, supposedly. I guarantee if we dug deeper they'd all admit to playing that tape before they went to bed."

Dean sat down.

"Ok, so that points to possession maybe, but I still don't see why he would need them unconscious. Demons can possess a human when they're awake. And spirits have been known to control people too, without needing them knocked out."

Sam forced himself not to think about Ellicott again.

"I think we can definitely rule out demons, there's no sulphur residue and none of the other signs we'd normally expect. It could be a spirit, maybe one that isn't very powerful? That would explain why they need the person unable to think for themselves."

"Great, so we're dealing with a wimpy ghost with psychotic tendencies. Should be easy enough to spot."

Sam shook his head.

"Fine, you look through this stuff and see if you can come up with something better. I'm gonna take a shower."

Dean took the papers that were shoved at him as Sam walked past, and sat back. Annoyingly it looked like his brother was right. There was nothing else in any of the cases that could explain what had happened other than some type of possession. He just wished they could work out how Munro was doing it, why, and what the significance of the number eight was.

Right. Just the little questions then.

He glanced up a while later as Sam came out of the bathroom.

"I give up. I got nothing." he said and Sam smirked.

"Really? I'm shocked."

"Whatever. I reckon best thing we can do is see what happens when you meet this guy tomorrow. Hopefully he'll give us a massive clue and we can work out the rest from there."

"You make it sound simple."

"Why shouldn't it be?"

"Oh, I don't know – because it's us?"

Dean lay down, pulling the blankets up over him.

"You're turning into a cynic, Sammy, you know that?"

Sam turned off the light and fumbled his way back to his own bed.

"I prefer to call it realism."

He waited for an answer but realised he was on his own, since Dean had already fallen asleep.

Trying to push aside the sense of foreboding about tomorrow he got into bed and closed his eyes. Moments later he too was asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"Dude, would you please keep still? You look like you got something crawling in your pants."

Sam gave him a look which showed how unamusing he was finding Dean today.

"Well excuse me for being nervous. It's not like this could go wrong or anything, is it?"

Dean tried to remind himself that getting into an argument yet again about what a bad idea Sam thought this job was would not be all that helpful.

Instead he tried to sound reassuring.

"Come on, we've been over this a million times – you're gonna go in, have a quick chat with Munro, keep your eyes open for anything strange and then get out of there. No hypnotising, no dodgy tapes, no homicidal tendencies, right?"

Sam let out a long sigh and slumped back against the passenger seat.

"I wish I could be as sure as you that this isn't going to go wrong."

Dean shrugged.

"No problem, I can be sure enough for both of us." he said, sounding confident. He glanced at his watch. "Anyway, it's showtime. Just concentrate on what you're doing and I'll be waiting right here when you're done, ok?"

Sam nodded and attempted a smile but he had a feeling from the look on Dean's face that it came out as more of a grimace.

Dean watched as Sam crossed the street and went into Munro's office. He kept watching as Sam spoke to the receptionist and sat down in the waiting area. After about five minutes he saw him get up and go into another room. Dean noted the time and settled back to wait.

He had the fleeting thought that he hoped he was right about this.

Sam forced himself not to stare at the face he'd become familiar with over the last few days from looking at their research. Munro appeared totally normal. He was around 5" 8, had short brown hair and dressed like an old college professor.

But there was something about his eyes.

When he'd first looked at Sam, as they shook hands, Sam had to fight the urge to pull his hand away. Whatever expression he was wearing didn't seem to extend that far. If Sam had to describe them the first word that would have sprung to mind would have been cold.

The second would have been terrifying.

Calling on years of training and experience, Sam pushed aside such thoughts and concentrated on acting like a regular client. He waited politely for Munro to say something.

For a long moment there was silence as Munro seemed to almost study him. Then he gave him the creepy smile and opened up the pad he was holding, settling back in his chair.

"So, Mr… Johnson. What brings you to my office, hmm?"

"Well, it's probably silly really. I have this problem sleeping. I've tried everything, relaxation tapes, herbal remedies, meditation. My doctor suggested exercising before bed and cutting back on caffeine, but none of that worked either. It's getting to be an issue now, my boss doesn't take too kindly to me falling asleep at my desk." Sam said, with his best fake smile.

"And what is it you do?"

"Web design. Nothing exciting, which probably doesn't help." said Sam quickly, attempting to inject some humour into the conversation.

Munro gave a thin smile.

"I see. Well, I'm sure it won't be a problem Mr Johnson. I usually see my patients for eight sessions, but I have a feeling with you we won't be needing that many."

"I won't?" Sam blurted out, before he could stop himself.

Munro always saw everyone eight times. Sam's brain was already screaming that this didn't feel right.

"Oh no. I think you're going to be quick study, Mr Johnson."

Sam forced himself not to shift uncomfortably in the chair.

"Well that's great. So do I just need to make an appointment at the front desk for the next session?"

Again the creepy smile.

"Actually I think we can start your treatment right now."

This time Sam did move.

"Oh, uh, I can't really – I have to get back to work. My boss would only let me take a half hour and I gotta get back there so, um, I'll make that appointment and we can start next time, right?"

Munro stood, walking across the room until he was in front of Sam.

"I'm afraid I have to insist we start right now. There's simply no time to lose, isn't that right - Sam."

Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently and watched a car drive past. Sam had been in there for half an hour and he wondered what they were talking about. He was just contemplating going in when he saw Sam come out. He breathed a sigh of relief and watched as his brother walked across the road.

"Hey. How'd it go?" he said as Sam got in.

Sam looked at him.

"Fine. I'm supposed to make an appointment for another session."

Dean frowned.

"That's it? Did he try and hypnotise you?"

"No, he didn't. That comes later apparently. I just told him the sleep story and he made a few notes."

"Nothing else?"

"No, nothing."

Dean's frown deepened.

"Well, alright then did you find anything weird in there? Any clues as to how he's been doing this?"

Sam shrugged.

"Nothing obvious. He just seems normal."

"Right, normal for a 100 year old psychopath."

Dean studied Sam, trying to pinpoint what was making him feel slightly uneasy.

"You're sure he didn't try anything with you?"

Sam shook his head.

"No, I told you."

Dean sighed.

"Great, so this was just a huge waste of time then. And to think you were worried about it."

"I guess I was wrong. What do you want to do?" said Sam and Dean bit his lip as he thought.

"We need to check out this guy's house, since his office is a bust. We'll head over there after dark, hope he goes out at some point and see if we can get in."

Sam looked unsure.

"It's a little risky."

"You got a better plan? You didn't get anything from talking to him and we can't risk someone else flipping out before we can find out how he's doing this. And more importantly how to stop him."

Sam nodded.

"I suppose so. Alright, we'll go check out the house tonight."

Dean started the engine and glanced across at Sam as he pulled away.

"Are you sure you're ok?" he said and Sam looked at him, nodding.

"Yes, I'm fine. Stop asking."

Dean turned his attention back to the road and tried to put the unease to the back of his mind. Maybe he was just being paranoid because Sam had been so worried earlier. For the visit to turn out to be nothing more than a waste of time was kind of an anti-climax.

Sam meanwhile looked out of the window, watching the scenery go by. Munro had definitely been creepy but despite his fears, the guy had done nothing. In fact Sam hadn't been able to sense anything unusual. He hoped they'd have more luck at the house.

He frowned slightly as a fleeting thought crossed his mind, moving too fast for him to focus on. He shivered, feeling like there was something he was forgetting. But the more he thought about it the more it seemed to elude him. He gave up.

It was probably nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

"Now that really is creepy."

Sam looked past Dean to get a good view of the house up on the hill. He grimaced. Dean was right, the place looked like something out of a bad horror movie, all gothic architecture, tall trees and dark shadows. It was positioned on the edge of town, a steep driveway leading up to the house itself and giving it a perfect view over the entire city. They'd followed Munro, discreetly, from his office and he'd gone straight inside without seeing them.

"Could this guy be any more of a cliché? All that's missing is the bats and the scary butler."

"Yeah." said Sam, distractedly. There was still something bothering him, something at the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite work out what it was.

"Earth to Sam – hello?"

He jumped as Dean waved his hand in front of his face and turned round.

""What?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Oh, nothing – I enjoy talking to myself."

Sam looked embarrassed.

"Sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?"

Dean gave him a strange look and appeared to be about to say something then changed his mind.

"I _said _I hope this guy has an interesting social life or we're gonna be sat out here all night. I really don't feel like trying to break in tomorrow in broad daylight."

"Yeah, that might be a little conspicuous." said Sam, pushing aside the strange sense of unease he still couldn't shake.

Two hours later Munro was still inside and Dean was snoring quietly, leaning up against the window. Sam shifted for the tenth time in as many minutes and rubbed a cramped muscle in his leg. He was beginning to think the doctor was in for the night.

Just then the lights in the downstairs windows went out. He sat up, watching to see if Munro was going out or just having an early night. For a moment nothing happened, then the front door opened and Sam saw Munro step out. He closed the door behind him, got into his car and came down the driveway. Sam slid down in his seat as the car pulled out and turned left, disappearing into the distance. He reached out and shook Dean's shoulder.

"Dean – wake up!"

Dean jumped awake, blinking as he looked round.

"What? What is it?"

"He's gone?"

"Who?"

Sam looked exasperated.

"Munro. Crazy doctor, staking out the creepy house – ringing any bells?"

Dean looked blank then remembered where they were and what they were doing.

"Oh, right. Well what are you waiting for?" he said, opening the door and stepping out.

"No idea." muttered Sam under his breath, following him out of the car.

They grabbed a few essentials from the trunk, since it paid to be prepared, and after a quick look round they made their way hurriedly up the driveway. Sam was the one to pick the lock this time, Dean keeping watch behind him. Once the door was open they slipped inside, turning on their flashlights.

"You take upstairs, I'll check down here." Dean whispered, disappearing before Sam could object.

Sam hesitated, getting a bad feeling about them splitting up, but since Dean was already gone he didn't have much choice. He made his way upstairs stealthily. On the landing there was a door straight ahead of him and he went in there first. The room was meticulously neat and tidy, obviously used as a spare room since it had two single beds. He checked every drawer, cupboard and shelf but there was nothing. The next room was the same as was the third, which was Munro's bedroom. Sam was getting frustrated and as he stepped into the final room he was actually starting to wonder if they'd got it all wrong.

Downstairs Dean's luck hadn't been any better.

"Come on – you can't leave one frikkin clue?" he said under his breath, trying the handle on the next door and finding it was locked.

Crossing his fingers this was a good sign, he picked it quickly and stepped into what appeared to be a study.

He was about to open the desk drawer when he heard something. He froze, straining his ears.

Maybe it was just Sam.

Listening for a few seconds longer he heard nothing further and turned his attention back to the desk.

Upstairs Sam was just heading for the staircase when he too heard something. He stopped, pushing himself back against the wall so he was hidden in the shadows. He waited, the only sound he could hear now being the thumping of his heartbeat. He peered round the corner. Maybe it had just been Dean making a noise downstairs.

He stepped away from the wall and was about to move when he heard a soft voice behind him.

"Hello again, Sam."

He whirled round but before he could do anything the voice whispered another word in his ear and everything went black.

Dean was just about to pick up a book he'd found in the third drawer down when there was a noise out in the hall.

"Ok, I definitely did not imagine that." he said to himself, cautiously making his way around the desk and creeping towards the door.

He opened it a crack and then opened it fully when he saw Sam standing there.

"Dammit, Sam, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he hissed.

There was no response.

He frowned, realising suddenly that Sam was standing in a weird way, his arms limp at his sides and his head hung forward so his chin was down on his chest. His hair obscured his face completely.

"Sam?" said Dean quietly, a little more cautious this time.

Something wasn't right.

"Sam's not home right now."

Dean jumped and turned round, his gun in his hand in a flash. He watched as Munro stepped out of the shadows, a humourless smile on his face.

"What have you done to my brother?" demanded Dean, keeping the gun trained on Munro as the doctor walked over to stand next to Sam.

"Let's just say we had a little condensed session in my office. Normally I would take my time of course, but that was of the essence here. It was quite simple really, especially when it came to blocking Sam's memory. That was always my favourite part. The human mind is so easy to control when you know how."

"Well you can just un-control it. Now." said Dean, aiming the gun at Munro's head.

Munro laughed, an eerie sound that had nothing to do with humour.

"Oh that is so amusing. You actually think you're in charge here. Do you take me for a fool, Dean? Do you really think I don't know what you are? I've known since the two of you arrived, conducting your little 'investigation'. I was impressed when you found my little hidden message on the tape. That was very industrious. It's always easier to work when you have a blank canvas you know, that's why I needed my patients to be unconscious while I did what was necessary."

"Victims you mean." said Dean, keeping one eye on the mad doctor and one on his brother. Sam still had yet to move.

"I wouldn't call them that. They're just a by-product really. Makes it so much easier to do my job when the police have a suspect in custody complete with damning evidence against them. Means no one looks too closely. Except you two, of course."

"So what's the deal, huh? You just do this stuff for kicks? Something to ease the boredom?"

Munro shook his head.

"Please. I'm not a murderer. No, the people who die are assisting a greater cause. You see they give me life itself. I feed off their energy, it's especially strong when someone dies a violent death you know. And with my patients unconscious when they commit the crime I can feed off of them as well. It's a perfect system."

"Right, that would be except for the poor bastard who gets their throat slit or the unlucky soul you make do the slitting in the first place." said Dean, unable to believe that after all the scenarios they'd come up with in the end it was a simple case of hypnotic suggestion and Munro feeding off the victims to stay alive.

"So righteous. So moral. Humans kill each other every day, in ways far more gruesome than the methods I employ. And really, I'm not the one holding the knife now, am I? Surely the responsibility has to lie with the person committing the crime?"

"Not when they're being controlled by you! Well you know what? It's your unlucky day because we're here to put you out of business, pal."

Munro laughed again. Dean really wished he'd stop doing that.

"Oh that is funny. Really. There is no 'we' Dean, don't you see? Sam here is under my control now and nothing you can do or say will break it. It's a shame, I had only just begun here but now I'll have to move on. So tiresome. Still, you will be a nice footnote to my little visit."

"You're not going anywhere."

"Oh I really think I am."

He leaned in towards Sam, saying something Dean couldn't make out. Sam's head snapped up and he looked at Dean, but his eyes were blank, his expression unseeing.

"Oh crap." Dean muttered, backing up a little. Sam was so gonna say 'I told you so'.

Assuming he didn't kill him first.

"Wait a second – answer me one question." said Dean, stalling for time.

Munro paused and looked towards him. Sam still hadn't moved yet.

"Very well – what is it?"

"Why eight? All these people, they have eight sessions and you always kill eight people. What's the meaning behind it."

Munro shrugged.

"Honestly? I just like the number. Has a certain, symmetry to it."

Dean blinked.

"You gotta be kidding me."

"I don't think so, do you?"

Whatever Dean had been about to say was forgotten as Sam pulled the gun out of his waistband and took the safety off. He stepped forward, jerkily, like a puppet having it's strings pulled. He aimed at Dean.

"Wait, wait, Sam – it's me. Just listen to my voice, ok? You can stop this. He has no control over you, Sam, you're better than that." said Dean, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

Sam stepped closer still, the gun never wavering.

Dean lowered his own gun, not able to risk Sam getting in the firing line now he was effectively standing between him and Munro.

"Sam, come on, you've got to listen to me – just put the gun down, ok? We can fix this, just put it down."

Sam stopped. The gun was aimed right at Dean's head.

Dean swallowed. There was no expression in Sam's face at all, nothing in his eyes. There was no way of getting through to him.

Sam really had been right about this one.

Dean felt his stomach lurch, knowing that Munro would most likely kill Sam too once he was dead. Not that Sam would be able to live with himself anyway. He felt his eyes burn.

"Sammy, please." he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper.

Sam's finger began to tighten on the trigger.

Dean closed his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

The shot rang out.

Dean wondered why he could still hear it echoing.

Opening his eyes he saw Sam was still standing there. But he was facing the wrong way.

Munro meanwhile had a puzzled look on his face, shifting his gaze from Sam to the growing stain on his chest.

"Impossible." he whispered and promptly fell to his knees.

His eyes never left them as he slowly tipped forward, landing on the floor finally with a dull thud.

Dean realised he was still holding his breath.

"Sam?"

For a moment Sam didn't move then he turned round, his face pale in the dim light.

"Dean?" he said, his voice unsteady.

Dean noticed Sam was still holding the gun. He reached out, seeing his own hand was shaking.

"Why don't you give me that, huh?"

Sam looked down as if realising for the first time he was still holding it. He handed it over, letting go as if it was burning him. He looked up at Dean, his eyes full of fear and something else but before he could say anything there was a sudden deafening shriek that seemed to grow until it reached a crescendo.

"Dammit!" said Dean, covering his ears and dropping to one knee. He felt a sudden wind appear out of nowhere, swirling around the hall scattering paper and moving furniture. It was like being in the middle of a tornado.

The screeching got louder, cutting through his brain like a hot poker and he closed his eyes tightly. He was aware of something grabbing hold of him but he was beyond real thought at that point other than praying the noise would stop before his brain exploded.

And then it was over.

For a second the absence of sound was almost as disorienting as the noise itself had been. He opened his eyes and dropped his hands away from his ears, becoming aware that Sam was crouched over, literally shielding him.

"Uh, Sam?"

Sam looked at him, his face just about visible.

"Yeah?" came the slightly shaky reply.

"You wanna give me a little room to breathe, dude?"

Sam blinked at him, then realised the danger had passed.

"Oh, right."

He stepped back, staggering to his feet with his ears still ringing. He looked over to where Munro lay, grimacing as he saw that the body had literally shrunken in on itself. It now appeared to be nothing more than a century old corpse.

"Huh. Guess all those spirits he sucked up must have been what was keeping him looking so fresh and shiny." said Dean.

Sam turned back to face him, his face incredulous.

"You're joking about this? I almost killed you and you want to joke about it?"

Dean winced as Sam's voice rose. He could see the impending blow out gathering speed and held up his hands.

"Before you start, we need to take care of Munro and get out of here, alright? We can talk about this when we get back to the motel. Now, look at me – are you ok?"

"Of course I'm not ok!"

"I mean do you still feel, you know, controlled?" said Dean, waving a hand vaguely at his head, and Sam actually paused to think about it. Besides a monster headache and vision that was slightly blurred around the edges he did feel himself again.

Albeit a version of himself that one step away from a screaming meltdown.

"No, I don't feel controlled anymore." he said and Dean grinned, smacking him on the arm.

"Well good. In that case go get the salt and the lighter fluid from the car, would you?"

Sam stared at him, unable to believe that Dean could just brush aside the fact Sam had held a gun at his head and almost pulled the trigger only moments before. This was something else, even for Dean.

"Dude, you wanna stay here all night?" said Dean, seeing that his brother still wasn't moving.

Sam opened and shut his mouth, then gave up and went out the front door to go get the stuff. As soon as he had gone Dean bent over, his hands on his knees, and let out a shuddering breath.

He'd really thought that was it, that Sam was going to kill him. He kept taking deep breaths, concentrating on not passing out. He didn't want Sam to know how freaked out he was but the entire thing had been too close.

Way too close.

Of course it didn't exactly help that it was almost a carbon copy of what had happened with Ellicott, except this time Sam hadn't been glaring at him in hatred he'd simply been not there at all. Dean wondered which was worse.

Then he wondered how weird their lives were that he had an actual comparison.

He straightened up. Ok, the important thing to remember was that Sam had fought back. He'd stopped himself. Hell, he'd stopped Munro. Dean was definitely gonna point that out loud and clear when the recriminations started as soon as they were back at the motel.

He turned round as Sam came back in, making sure he was the picture of nonchalance.

"Thanks." he said, as Sam handed him the salt.

He quickly covered what was left of the body and then added some lighter fluid for good measure. Handing both back to Sam he took a step back and dropped a lit match.

The flames caught immediately and burned brightly for a few minutes before dying down. There hadn't exactly been much left to burn when it came to it. They stayed until the flames were out completely, knowing that it paid to make sure, then Dean nudged Sam with his shoulder.

"Come on, lets get out of here."

Sam didn't protest, still looking dazed. Dean couldn't really blame him.

In the car Dean suggested it might be a good idea to check out and stop at a motel a little further away. Sam hadn't offered any resistance so they'd quickly driven back to their room, loaded the car and headed out. As Dean drove out of the city he felt himself relax a little. He glanced over at Sam, worried by the complete silence and the way his brother was hunched down in the corner of the seat.

"You ok?"

Sam nodded, not even turning his head.

Dean sighed. _Yeah – sure you are_, he thought.

They drove for just over an hour, Dean eventually spotting a motel sign and pulling off at the next exit. He checked them in, got the bags out of the trunk and went round to the passenger side.

Sam still hadn't moved.

He contemplated just opening the door and watching his brother fall out but then decided it wasn't exactly the right moment. Instead he knocked on the window lightly and Sam jumped a little.

"You gonna get out or you wanna sleep in there all night?"

Sam seemed to realise they'd actually stopped and he opened the door as Dean stepped back. He wouldn't meet Dean's eyes though, reaching out and taking one of the bags without a word and waiting for Dean to tell him which room they were in.

Dean bit back his frustration, knowing that losing his temper wasn't going to help. He was gonna have to tread very carefully on this one.

"Come on."

He led the way to room 206, opening the door and stepping back to let Sam pass. He locked it behind them and pulled the curtains closed, flicking on the light. Shrugging off his jacket he dropped the bag on the floor and sat down on one of the beds. He watched as Sam took off his own jacket and sat down on the other bed, still not looking at him.

"Sam."

Nothing.

"Sam, look at me."

Sam fidgeted uncomfortably but still kept his gaze firmly fixed on the slightly psychedelic carpet.

"Please?"

Sam actually flinched that time as Dean echoed what he'd said when Sam had been about to pull the trigger. He swallowed, praying that he wasn't about to throw up. He heard footsteps and the bed dipped as Dean sat down next to him. Part of him wanted to move away but the other part appreciated the closeness, the reminder that he hadn't actually shot his brother in the head.

Dean considered his words carefully before he spoke.

"Look, I'm not gonna try and make a joke out of this or shrug it off, ok? I know you were worried about this happening and you were right. And I'm sorry."

This time Sam did glance at him, but only out of the corner of his eye.

"Why are you sorry? I'm the one who nearly killed you." he said, quietly.

"You did not nearly kill me, Sam! Listen to me, that was Munro back there. Do you understand? He was controlling you, you had no choice."

Sam laughed bitterly.

"Right, like I had no choice when Ellicott was the one controlling me. I told you, it's me – I'm the one who is so easy to take over. I'm the one these people can use to do whatever the hell they want. Dad was right – one day the demon is gonna use that and he's gonna use me, to do god knows what. It's not safe to be around me, Dean."

Dean grabbed hold of Sam's shoulders, pulling him round and shaking him slightly.

"Don't say that, Sam! Don't you dare say that! There is nothing you could have done to stop this, do you understand? Nothing! It could just have easily been me if you'd let me go in and see the guy! Same with Ellicott. This isn't about you being easy to control it's about them being good at what they do! Look how many people Munro controlled in his time –please, Sam, you have got to listen to me." Dean pleaded.

Sam shook his head, feeling Dean's fingers digging into his shoulders. He still looked down at the floor miserably, feeling his eyes sting.

"I should have been able to stop him doing it. Why didn't I remember, when I came out of his office?"

"Because he didn't let you remember! Do you think all those people would have gone on to commit murder if they could have remembered what that son of a bitch was doing to them? He'd been doing this for nearly a century, Sam, I reckon he'd had time to pretty much perfect it, don't you?"

"They never remembered though. His victims, after the murders they all said they didn't remember anything – but I could. When he was controlling me I could hear your voice. I could see you. It was like watching everything through a fog, but I understood. I just couldn't stop it."

Dean shook his head, even though it was a wasted gesture since Sam still wasn't looking at him.

"Don't you see? You're missing the point. You did stop him. You snapped out of it – you didn't kill me. Of all his victims, none of them ever did that. Except you."

Finally Sam did look up at him, his eyes full of pain and guilt.

"I couldn't. I could hear your voice and I just couldn't. I could feel him, pushing and pushing, but I would have done anything not to pull that trigger."

Dean smiled at him gently.

"Which is exactly what I've been saying. How strong did you have to be, to resist him like that? You did good here, Sammy. You saved the day. So please, stop beating yourself up for not knowing he'd brainwashed you. And while you're at it, let go of this whole thing about Ellicott too, would ya? It's over – past tense."

Sam swallowed.

"I still pointed a gun at your head though. I still almost pulled the trigger."

"The important word there, Sam, is 'almost'. When it came down to it, you didn't. That's all I care about."

Sam saw in Dean's eyes that it was true, that really was all he cared about. The only thing he could see was relief, forgiveness and maybe even a little pride.

He didn't deserve it.

"Dean."

He stopped, not knowing what he could say to apologise enough for what he'd nearly done. He didn't have to say anything though. Dean knew exactly what his brother was thinking and as far as he was concerned, it was unnecessary.

"I know. But it's over. Promise me you're not gonna dwell on this - promise me you're not gonna go around thinking this proves some random point about Dad being right over this stupid destiny crap. You're not that person, and I know that even if you don't."

Sam wished he could believe it as much as Dean clearly did, but these days he just didn't know what to think sometimes. He looked up again, seeing Dean waiting patiently for him to answer.

"I don't know if I can." he said, deciding honesty was the best policy.

Dean sighed, the answer not unexpected but no less frustrating.

"Fine. Well then think about this – out of all those people, out of the hundreds of victims that came under Munro's control, you're the only one who didn't go through with it. If you ask me that says a hell of a lot about the kind of person you really are. And you wanna know something else? I reckon it says a hell of a lot about our relationship as well."

He stood up, wanting to give Sam some time to digest that.

As he watched Dean go into the bathroom and heard the water start running, Sam replayed the words in his head.

As hard as it was to stomach, maybe Dean was right. Maybe he was focusing on the wrong thing. He hated that Munro had been able to control him, hated that yet again he'd had his brother on the wrong end of a gun. But it was true – he hadn't gone through with it. When it came down to it he'd simply not been able to pull that trigger, mind control or no mind control.

He felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

Perhaps it did indeed say a lot about their relationship, that the bond between them was so strong it could overcome something as powerful as Munro. Maybe it was a good sign, that however much they might annoy and frustrate each other at times when push came to shove they were brothers. And nothing could really get past that.

When Dean came out of the bathroom Sam was still sitting in the same position, but instead of looking anguished as he had before he instead had a thoughtful look on his face.

"All yours, Sam." Dean said, gesturing to the empty bathroom.

Sam looked at him.

"Huh? Oh, right."

He got up and grabbed his things, still clearly lost in thought. Dean shook his head, hoping he hadn't started something. If Sam thought about this any harder he was gonna hurt himself.

Dean was watching TV when Sam came back out again, stretched out on his bed with one arm behind his head. He glanced out of the corner of his eye as Sam put his dirty clothes in the bag and sat down on his own bed.

It was silent for a moment as Sam kept his gaze on the TV. Dean had almost decided he obviously didn't want to talk about it anymore when finally Sam spoke.

"Maybe you're right."

Dean smirked.

"You know it would save so much time and effort if you'd just realise that every time."

Sam's lips twitched and he tried to look serious.

"Could you just not, for once? I mean it – I've been thinking about what you said, how the fact I couldn't pull the trigger says something about me. About us. And I'm just saying, maybe you're right about that part."

"Good. Because I am."

"I'm not saying you're right about everything though."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Heaven forbid."

There was more silence for a moment, this time less heavy than it had been before.

"So no more wailing and teeth gnashing then, huh? We're gonna put this one behind us and move on?"

Sam glared at him.

"I do not wail and gnash my teeth, Dean."

"Right. Sure you don't."

Sam briefly reconsidered the whole brotherly bond thing.

"Fine – yes, we can put it behind us. But I want you to admit I was right though, about it being a bad idea me seeing Munro on my own."

"Nope, can't do that I'm afraid. You thought it was a bad idea because you were insisting Munro was gonna make you go all dark side and kill me. Since you didn't, that means I was right when I said that wouldn't happen."

"I still pointed the gun at you, Dean!"

"Yeah, but you didn't pull the trigger, Sam. Hence I am, as usual, right."

Sam stared at him.

"You're unbelievable."

Dean grinned.

"I know."

Sam gave up. He knew when Dean was in this mood it was pointless. He pushed back the blankets and got into bed properly, pulling them back up once he was comfortable.

Dean yawned and decided Sam had the right idea. It had been a long day after all.

He got up and switched off the TV, checking the door one more time and turning out the light. He got back in bed and lay down with a contented sigh, surprised to find the mattress was, for once, quite comfortable.

"There is one thing though."

He glanced over towards Sam's bed.

"What?"

"Next time we come across a job that has anything to do with some homicidal psychiatrist or any other kind of mind control, we leave well alone."

Dean considered this.

"Fair enough. Probably best not to push our luck."

"Good." said Sam, glad not to have had any argument.

As he lay there in the dark Sam thought about all those other victims of Munro's and said a silent thank you that he hadn't joined that list. Surprisingly he did feel better about the fact this time he'd been able to resist. And that might just finally lay the ghost of Ellicott and what had happened at the asylum to rest.

He glanced over at Dean, able to tell even from there that his brother was almost asleep, and smiled to himself.

They were lucky really.

Despite everything that happened, despite all the things they went through every day, they still had something that even a monster like Munro couldn't destroy.

And perhaps that wasn't a bad lesson to remember.


End file.
